Morpheus Remembered
by Emom
Summary: As Sam fights to rescue Dean will his efforts be in vain or will his own life be forfeited?
1. Chapter 1

**Morpheus Remembered**

_These good fellows don't belong to me but I promise when I'm done to pick um up, dust um off and with a kiss on the cheek return them safely home. _

Dreams are illustrations... from the book your soul is writing about you.  
~Marsha Norman

A/N: This is my first Supernatural story.

Chapter 1

* * *

Dean ran.

Down the middle of the street, in broad daylight, in the center of town where people went about their Sunday shopping and chatted while sipping caramel flavored lattes and coffees as if they were world travelers without a care in the world. Then again, they didn't have a care because it wasn't them that he ran from. It wasn't the short stoutly middle-aged cop that directed traffic where the light wasn't working, nor the angry man who pulled out a knife on an unsuspecting woman just inside the alley.

Dean ran for his very life.

He didn't look back because he knew there was nothing to see as the hot afternoon sun beat down on him. The hairs standing up on the back of his neck, the shiver that crawled down his spine from the warm breath just behind him spurred him on and he knew that looking back would cost him that precious half of a second that would mean his death. Relentless footsteps pounded the pavement just on his heels as the sweat ran down from his wet hair making his eyes sting.

Resisting the urge to reach up and wipe it away he focused on the small brick house in front of him. Closing in on it fast he could only think how 'not' fast enough it was to him. As if in slow motion he could see Sam, his younger brother, step out of the front door and motion for him to hurry, his calls lost in the rushing wind around his ears that blocked out everything except for his own pounding heartbeat.

Every step closer to the safety that Sam called him towards seemed to grow further as the whispers grew louder in his mind. It was almost on him and looking at the frantic screaming eyes of Sam he suddenly understood that it wouldn't be possible as minute calculations raced through his brain shrieking the physical impossibility of what he had hoped for. This time wouldn't be one of those miraculous leaps from death with his own personal flare of glistening green eyes and a face etched with agony and regret.

No, instead he would die in the middle of the street, chased by something invisible, surrounded by strangers as his brother watched just out of reach while his body was torn to shreds. In that next instant his thoughts then went to Sam. The baby brother he had begged his mom for, the adult brother that could be the biggest pain in the ass of the world. It was all irrelevant now because he knew that Sam was more than a brother, he was his best friend. There was a laundry list of things he needed to tell him, how to survive, how to pick the right girl in life, to treat his baby as good as he would have. But more than anything he wanted his baby brother to survive and live to see the next day, and the next.

No matter what Sam had to live.

He could see it now in those eyes as they changed from encouragement to wide-eyed panic. The shadow of the building had revealed his attacker but he dared not looked back. Sam's fearful eyes now told how this story would unfold and his own expression was now telling him goodbye.

As he felt the penetration of claws into his skin and they ripped through the flesh of his back all those things he had wanted disappeared and darkness overtook him. And as he heard his name called out, he could hear the tone change to one of grief and raged filled cries.

"DEAN!"

"DEAN!"

Sam Winchester was frantic now, his mind racing in a thousand directions. The abandoned house they had found late last night was dirty, cobweb filled and yes one step down from the sleaziest of any hotel they had ever stayed in but it was what they needed for the moment. Now though it had become their own personal nightmare with walls that were closing on him faster than his mind could comprehend.

"DEAN!" Sam clenched his hands on Dean's shoulders shaking him almost to the point of being afraid of really hurting him.

It wasn't making any difference at all. His brother continued thrashing on the floor, the sleeping bag no longer even underneath him as his feet kicked everything near him away and his arms flailed at unseen assailants. Wet with sweat the dark hair matted to his forehead while his face twisted in what looked like agonizing horrific pain.

"Dean! Wake up!" Taking his palm open hand Sam impacted Dean's cheek with a resounding smack leaving a painfully obvious imprint of his hand behind.

It didn't matter. The nightmare from hell continued.

Sam stepped back, his shoulders heaving with the exasperated breaths that had him now literally shaking. Never had he seen Dean like this before. He was the nightmare boy, the one that dreamt of Jessica's flaming body trapped on the ceiling above him or of strangers faces that provided clues of the terrible things they would have to hunt down and face in the near future.

This was different and deep in his gut Sam knew that something was very wrong here. As the long shadows of the dimly lit house wrapped around him his hands frantically dug into his pockets until they grasped the phone. Flipping it open he called the one person that might be able to help him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Morpheus Remembered**

_These good fellows don't belong to me but I promise when I'm done to pick um up, dust um off and with a kiss on the cheek return them safely home. _

For a dreamer, night's the only time of day. ~From the movie _Newsies_

Chapter 2

* * *

"Bobby?"

The older man knew Sam's tone spoke instantly of the fact that something was amiss. _"Sam? What's wrong?"_

With his other hand he ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. It's Dean. He's having a nightmare."

A small sigh escaped on the other end. _"And with all you boys have been through your surprised by that how?"_

Sam frowned and shook his head. "No Bobby, I don't know, this is different. Something's wrong."

In the background Bobby heard Dean scream like his life was being ripped away from him and suddenly Sam had every fiber of his attention.

"I can't wake him up Bobby. I mean _nothing_ is working."

"_Sam," _his tone became stern as his mind raced on what it could be and how to handle it. _"Can you get him here?"_

Minute calculations processed as he contemplated how far they were from Bobby and if he could or even should move his brother. "I don't know Bobby. We're a good six hours from you and I'm not really sure I should move him."

"_Tell me where you are."_

Sam alternated between pacing the small bedroom floor and kneeling down beside Dean where he struggled between anger and complete fear. He felt helpless. Completely and utterly helpless. Hell, he was nothing but useless now and it was a feeling that he didn't like. A feeling that was slowing brewing into rage deep down inside.

Someone or something was doing this to his brother that much he was sure of now. As he watched Dean settle into a fitful yet less troubled sleep he pulled out his laptop and folded his legs to sit on the floor beside him. Softly tapping on the keys he began the tedious search for something and anything that might tell him what his gut already knew. Dean's fight was unnatural at best; however, it was the unknown that had his gut twisted in a knot. He knew very well that nothing related to their job was ever simple or straight forward and most of the time in the end, someone died.

Someone.

And Sam knew that it sure as hell wasn't going to be Dean, not tonight. Keeping Dean in his peripheral vision the only light was from his computer screen as the hunt began.

* * *

The bed was soft, filled with feather down and covered in a high count linen that seemed to caress your skin and lure you into a deep sleep. Without opening his eyes he let a small smile escape, just soaking in the concept of pure comfort was a rare privilege when you lived a life on the road and on the hunt. Endless hotels of hard lumpy beds with scratchy sheets and pillows that managed to contort a healthy neck into a pretzel made one forget the comforts that a regular stable home might offer.

Home. That alone was enough to bring mixed memories and emotions. Like curling up with his mom in the giant queen sized bed that was padded with down and the smell of spring flowers dryer softener. Sammy would lay beside them laughing as she tickled him, Dean trying to pretend annoyance but always turning into the super hero who swooped down, sheet cape tried around his neck, and saved baby Sam from the evil tickle monster.

This bed was like that one. His fingers played across the linen sheets without moving any other part of his body. After a few moments he felt the gentle coolness turn cold, and wet, and before his smile could fade he recognized the rusty almost metallic copper smell that flooded his nostrils. Opening his eyes he pulled his hand up to find it soaked in the thick red fluid and though his first instinct was to run like hell he found himself now forcibly held in place as he watched the starch white walls gradually turned red all around him. Blood oozed from the crease of ceiling meeting wall, running crimson until the last trace of purity had disappeared.

He tried to turn his head when he caught a flash in his peripheral vision which emerged as a figure moving closer until he could see it clearly. His heartbeat quickened.

"Mom?" His voice shaky and uncertain.

"Dean, are you okay?" Her eyes trailed down his body then back to his face.

"Mom, where are we? What's going on?"

When she smiled his heart melted and more than anything he needed her to fix this, to rescue him, and hold him until nothing else existed anymore except them and home and peace.

"You're having a bad dream Baby, it's okay." Her fingers brushed through his hair and instead of it being comforting he could feel her fingers stick in the goo that began to coated his head.

His face contorted with the emotional pain that flooded him. "Mom, help me."

Again, she smiled then gently shook her head. "I'm so sorry baby. This is what you've done." Her voice soft and caressing. "You know the saying make your bed and lay in it? This is the blood of those you killed or didn't save in time." She trailed her fingers over his soaked chest before tracing them along her lips as if applying a new lipstick.

A tear ran down his cheek. That part of him that knew she wasn't really his mother wasn't enough because she was here and he needed her now more than ever before. However, what really shook him to his core was when he realized she was right. He had failed so many, for so many years. As his body sank into the pool of thick, vile, suffocating fluid he knew this was his penance, to drown in those lives.

* * *

Sam had held down his arms until he was just as wet with sweat as Dean. When his brother grew still again with reluctance he let go and remained in a kneeling position beside him, afraid to move too far away anymore, knowing that the peace wouldn't last long if any of the previous hours held any sign of what else could come. Closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead with his fingers he tried to focus his mind on what he had learned, which had been basically nothing before his laptop died leaving him sorting through facts without the comfort of technology.

As Dean moaned beside him he held the small flashlight with his teeth as he flipped through the brown notebook that had been his fathers. Endless pages of notes, data, sightings, hunts, trivia and random facts littered the pages in a seemingly chaotic fashion that somehow Sam had learned to follow quite easily. Any other time he could smile at Dean teasing him with that fact, but not here, not now. Lack of sleep was taking its toll on him as he yawned and found himself struggling to keep his eyes open longer. A quick look at his watch told him that Bobby should arrive within the next couple of hours and with Dean only tossing and turning minimally it might be his only shot at getting a moment of shut eye.

* * *

Dean saw a face appear near him and it rattled him back to the present, or past, or where ever this hell had brought him. Sam now stood beside him, his face full of fear with those eyes that reminded Dean of when he was little and they waited for their dad to return home from a hunting trip, and the unknown was so heavy on them. Mostly on him as he tried to protect Sammy for as long as possible. And suddenly he was the protective big brother again that would never let anything happen to Sam and he wanted this time to be no different.

But as his body sank into the pool he struggled with everything he had, screaming out Sam's name to run, anywhere, just for God's sake run. His eyes became covered with blood and it filled his nostrils until he could taste it running down the back of his throat making him cough and sputter unable to stop his lungs from filling up. They burned as if a torch had been ignited inside searing off the lung tissue layer by layer and cell by cell. Minutes felt like hours, hours like days and he had no idea how long he struggled.

He sank deeper, into a darkness that was suffocating and encapsulating. As he gurgled in his own blood he prayed that peace would hurry up and come to him.

* * *

Sam heard the sound but in the sleep deprived drugged hazy that he lingered in he was unable to distinguish its urgency initially. Then with horror his eyes popped open as he recognized the sound of Dean drowning. Drowning in what he couldn't see. There was nothing there, his mouth was clear, yet he was gurgling and flailing leaving Sam with a rising panic that threatened to choke him also.

"Dean!" He pulled him up into his arms so that Dean's head rested on his chest. "Come on Dean, don't do this to me. Bobby is on the way I just need you to hold on a bit longer."

Sam's eyes trailed around the room searching for anything that would help, or anyone, knowing that this place of isolation had just become his worst nightmare.

"Cas! If you can hear me we need you down here right now!"

However, the room remained empty and silent, despite all the calls in the last few hours. The only sounds emitted were from his brother who gave every indication that he was dying in his arms and it was completely out of his control.

It was in that instant that he made a decision.

"Okay, okay," he gently laid Dean back down and ran to the barely still standing wooden rickety table that held his backpack. Quickly shoving his laptop and scattered supplies into it he swung it over his shoulder and he raced back to Dean. Pulling him to his feet and thrusting an arm over his shoulders he put his own around Dean's waist effectively dragging his fighting and struggling body to the front door.

"Gonna get you to the hospital Dean, just hold on," he turned the knob, "Come on, just hold on."

The simultaneous knock on the door when he opened it made him jump as he instantly calculated that he had nothing in his hand to defend them. Within seconds he sighed as he saw Bobby standing there.

"What the hell?" Bobby exclaimed as reached out to steady the now backing up Sam. "Here."

He moved to the other side of Dean and grabbed the flailing arm trying to restrain the older brother without hurting him.

"Where ya goin?"

Sam moved forward again towards the open door. "To the hospital. He's dying Bobby and I don't know what else to do."

Bobby's voice lowered and stayed steady. "Sam, let's think this through boy. Are they really going to be able to do anything for him there? Do we have any idea what this is?"

"He's been like this for hours. I mean, I don't know what else to do."

Dean fought and gurgled in their arms paying no heed to their attempts to stop what was happening. Having lost track of all time Sam looked up and squinted as the sun peaked above horizon hitting them with warmth and the false promise of a new day. Instantly, Dean stopped moving, his breathing eased and he dropped limply into their hold. The quick exchange between the men shared the change in plans, at least for now. Bobby kicked the door closed with his foot as they turned and headed back to the bare bedroom and tossed sleeping bag that waited on the floor. Easing the unconscious body down to the floor Sam quickly felt for some evidence of breathing and turned to give Bobby a nod of his head.

"He's alive."

Standing up they began comparing notes.

"When did this start?" Bobby asked.

Sam narrowed his brows as he remembered back. It had seemed like days to him. "He complained about being tired and crashed around nine last night." He paced the floor. "He'd only been asleep for about twenty minutes when he started screaming."

"A nightmare?" Bobby repeated the thought.

Shaking his head Sam reflected back some of what he'd been through over the last ten hours. "More than a bad dream Bobby." He paced the small room. "I mean I've seen him have bad dreams about hell or even something that we killed that day but this was different. I mean it was real terror."

Bobby pursed his lips together and creased his own brow. "Like he was living through it right then?"

His head nodded. "Yea."

"Had it stopped at all before now?"

"No, this is the first time he's not been thrashing all over the place." Sam looked out the window into the sun filled day, his eyes widening as another piece to the puzzle slid into place. "Are you saying that sunrise stopped it?"

"If it did then we better damn well find out what's going on before sunset." He looked down to the young man passed out on the floor with doubt riddled across his face. "Let's get to work cause, I don't know if he can survive another night like this."

* * *

When exhaustion took over he stopped fighting it and let himself sink further and further in hope and prayer that peace would be at the bottom of this ocean of sacrificial blood. Faces he recognized drifted past him, some he knew well, others he just remembered in passing when their lives had intersected for all the wrong reasons in a world that had literally gone to hell. They weren't angry, nor did they seem vindictive.

It was worse than that.

They were disappointed in him, his losses, all those failures, and in everything he had done wrong or just simply done. They wanted him to know that they understood it all now; how they fit into the insane puzzle that his life had become yet had become the lost and broken pieces that were forgotten along the way. Letting them down was harder on him than anyone could begin to imagine, anyone, including Sam. He was done, his energy spent, his will power used up, and there was nothing left anymore. He would succumb.

He no longer cared.


	3. Chapter 3

Morpheus Remembered

_These good fellows don't belong to me but I promise when I'm done to pick um up, dust um off and with a kiss on the cheek return them safely home (maybe)._

Research is the name given the crystal formed when the night's worry is added to the day's sweat. ~Martin H. Fischer

_A/N: Thank you so much for those who are reading and esp to those leaving me your thoughts. It's much appreciated! This chapter is a bit longer for you as things begin to heat up._

Chapter 3

* * *

Sam stood lumbering over his brother who had remained motionless and utterly unresponsive since sunrise. The fact that he was still breathing should have reassured them but the short days of wintertime would bring nightfall down on them quickly. The transformation over the last twenty-four hours had been dramatic in Dean's physical condition. It was obvious how weak he had become, his color pallid, dark circles indented under each eye, his lips pale and drawn. Even his breathing had changed, shallow and irregular as if he was conserving energy for a long battle ahead.

Sam's own chest felt the building pressure of time running out and more importantly, daylight. Walking back over to the table he hovered behind Bobby.

"Anything?" Sam asked.

Bobby leaned back as the rickety chair groaned in protest as he turned through a dog-eared damaged book which held yellowing pages with frayed edges.

"Well, there are a thousand legends about dreams and the God's that rule over them."

Sam cringed. "Gods?"

"Yea, ancient Greek mostly." He shoved another tattered book towards Sam. "There must be hundreds of lore and bedtime stories about protectors of sleep. The fun part is trying to figure out which one seems to have a beef with sleeping beauty over there."

Sam let out a quick sigh and rolled his eyes. "Why would an ancient God want anything to do with us?"

Bobby shrugged, pressing his lips together. "How the hell am I supposed to know? I mean you two are the hunters that seem to draw out the pissy side of anything evil and undead. Maybe, they just saw an opportunity to take one of you out of the equation."

In a flash his jaw line tightened, as his eyes narrowed. "No one is taking us out of anything."

Leaning forward again in the chair Bobby relaxed his shoulders with little surprise at the protective reaction, he would expect nothing less. "Easy there Sam. We're gonna figure this out and wake him up."

Seeing Bobby's own resolve he allowed a fraction of the tension to leave his body. "Yea, I know we will. What's our next step?"

"Well, I need to go to the local community college library just outside of town and track down a couple of lower level minions that might be capable of this kind of mojo." He stood up and pulled his keys out of his pocket then passed a piece of paper over to Sam. "I need you to go through this list with Dean and mark down any findings."

A quick read of the list widened Sam's eyes as he questioned the man's sanity. "Bobby?"

Bobby tilted his head and pursed his lips together. "I know, I know but we need to know some of these things and I just figured that, well you know, you would be better suited."

Sam couldn't remember a time that he saw Bobby blush before and he now knew it was something that made him uncomfortable.

"You can't be serious?" When Bobby didn't give in his eyes grew wider and a tilt of his head shot the question. "Surely, you don't think I am going to um, do all of this?"

Bobby slapped his shoulder and smiled. "That's what brothers are for. Hey, just act like when you were five and used that plastic stethoscope on everyone to play doctor."

"I never wanted to be a doctor for the same reasons as everything on this list."

"If it'll make you feel better you can salt and burn the evidence when we're done with it," Bobby said seriously then turned and left before the stuttering hulk could lodge any further protests.

When the door had closed Sam walked back over to Dean, his heart aching over the complete lack of control with all that was happening. Looking again at the paper he groaned but knew it had get done. Kneeling down beside his brother he took a deep breath and began the investigation.

"If you ever have any memory of this Dean, I swear to God, just shoot me and put us both out of our misery."

* * *

His hands, though large and rough, handled his brother with an amazing gentle touch. Running his fingers through the brown hair he felt for any irregularities of the bone underneath. Ripples of scar tissue told of cuts and stitched up lacerations over the years and even though Sam could recall every battle his brother had been injured in he still marked them all down for Bobby.

Gently he pulled each eye open noting the pupil size and color, trying to not get even more worried about the red sclera or deep dark rings beneath them. With a quick glance around in some weird paranoia that someone might be watching him strip his brother, he began to remove the layers of clothing from Dean.

Dean's chest seemed to barely be moving causing Sam to place his palm on the cool skin and feel the shallow pattern underneath. Their tattoo of protecntio remained in place, occupying his upper left chest, just as Sam's did. It was a deep reminder of all they had already been through and another reminder of his unanswered prayers for his brother. Subtle healed scars littered his chest and abdomen, each one Sam touched and remember the near death experiences they had come through before, the many stitches he had placed in sewing his older brother back together, over and over again.

The vulnerability of Dean rattled Sam now, more than ever before. They'd both had so many near death experiences in their lifetime, probably more than they even realized, but this time it was different. Dean lay lifeless in front of him and there was nothing he could hunt down, or fight, no demon deals to summon, no angels to rescue them. Sitting back on his heels he struggled to not let futility creep in and invade his drive and purpose. Giving up was what this unknown monster wanted and he wasn't that easily swayed. Re-looking at the list he put it down and set forth with a new sense of purpose. He would do whatever it took to save Dean.

He would do anything.

* * *

It was nearly one o'clock when Bobby finally returned and found Sam sitting on the front porch looking drawn and exhausted. He knew that for every hour Dean remained unconscious Sam was likewise getting no sleep and thus wearing down his own resources.

"Any change?"

Sam simply shook his head then followed Bobby back into the house.

"What'd you find out?"

Bobby sat down. "Okay, well apparently there are more menial Gods out there than we could ever possibly track down or identify."

"Great. Now what?" Sam sat down at the table.

"Most of the lore is really nonspecific and seems to focus on all the happy dreams. But, luckily even they have their own version of a family tree that can be traced based on certain marks."

"Marks? What kinda marks?"

Bobby pulled out a book from the bag and opened it up to a specific page. "I found one specific Greek Mythology tale that is hundreds of years old that says '_once visited with miming the will shall bear a mark of passage.'"_

"Mark of passage." Sam pulled out the piece of paper that he had taken notes on and held it out.

Bobby reached to take the paper and met resistance as Sam didn't let go.

"We will never speak of this again, understood?" Sam said sternly.

Resisting the massive urge to grin Bobby decided it was safer to just nod and take the paper. Reading down the list he compared it to the book in front of him.

"Number 11?" He said with raised eyebrows.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Don't. Go. There."

Bobby put his hands up and smiled. "Okay, okay, sorry." He continued to read down the list and when he reached number eleven he paused and looked up to Sam.

"His eyes are black?"

Sam nodded. "Yea, the iris is black but it doesn't look like demon eyes. Is it one of the markers?"

Bobby ran his finger down the page then shook his head. "Damn it to Hell Sam, can't you boys ever just do something half way?"

* * *

"If you don't start doing what you're told boy none of us are going to make it out of this alive."

Dean cringed as his father reprimanded him. The older man's voice was low as they spoke in hushed tones to each other inside the hollowed out culvert deep inside the forest. The winding valley paths had led them to this small enclave of safety, at least for the time being. Safety for him and his father yes, but not for Sam. He sat propped up against the damp wall of dirt, his knees pulled up allowing his arms to rest on his knees. Both men were soaking wet from the hours of non-stop rain which penetrated deep making them cold to the bones. Dean's face was muddied with dried blood and dirt around the laceration that ran along his right eye, down to his lower jaw.

He was exhausted from the last battle and this brief break was meant to conserve energy and regroup before they attacked again. The problem was that Dean felt restless about the events of the last few hours. Everything had gone wrong and he was no longer sure of what was right anymore. Looking over John had closed his eyes in the silence and Dean had to struggle to not jerk the man to his feet and demand to know what happened with Sam. His father had told him, explained why things had to be this way, over and over, but it didn't sit right with Dean. No matter what happened out there Sam not being with them was wrong. Very wrong.

He'd spent days ignoring the bickering and snapping between father and younger son. The ongoing tension had worn thin on him but it was even worse when he would try to intervene as they both would bite his head off. So he had let it go. Let them continue with whispered rants, eye rolling, and a tension that was nothing short of palpable. They had found safety at one point but instead of using the time to catch their breath those two were at it again. And each time the heat and anger increased.

_"If I didn't know better I'd think you were trying to feed us to those wolves," John snapped._

_Sam almost let out his own growl, "I'm still trying to figure out why you think no one can handle this except you. Why'd you even bring us along if you're only going to hold us back all the time?"_

_John stopped in his tracks. "Hold you back? Is that what you call 'saving your life' now? Who the hell taught you that putting your brother's life in danger was an acceptable risk?"_

_Sam's fists clinched. "You."_

_"I never said any such thing, ever." John's voice grew deep and threatening. "I guess you need to decide where your loyalties lie in this battle."_

Dean had stepped between them at that point realizing this was going way farther than he expected. _"Will you two stop it! I know exactly where Sammy belongs and its right here."_

_Sam's arm and shoulder muscles contracted with pent up rage. "Maybe Dad's right Dean. Seems we're not on the same page anymore. Maybe I don't belong here_."

That caught his attention immediately. He refused to even consider separating the family again and even more so in the middle of a dangerous forest. "_Sam, you both need to calm down. In case you've forgotten we are being stalked!"_

As if to remind them one of the wolves raced out of the bushes in a deadline push towards Dean, his jaw snapping with large glistening teeth that spoke of the intent need to tear into his flesh. As John turned to get a shot off Dean lunged behind a large boulder.

_"Sam move!" _Dean yelled out as the bullets sounded through the air. In the seconds of silence that followed he regained his footing and peered around the rock face to find out where everyone went. What he saw staggered him_. _

The wolf was gone, no sign of him anywhere. Standing in the clearing Sam's arms were at his side, a gun in one hand. John was getting up off the ground in front of him, staggering to regain his feet under him when he suddenly lunged at Sam hitting him right in the chest and knocking him to the ground. Dean moved quickly to pry the men apart before they killed each other in the knock down drag out mêlée that ensued_. _When it was over John wiped the blood from his lip and narrowed his eyes at Sam as the younger son kept stepping backwards, his breath heaving.

_"You'll pay for this," _Sam growled in some primal way that made it hard to even recognize his voice.

John pulled up his gun and pointed it at Sam._ "It's time for you to leave."_

_"Dad no!" _Dean cried out as his mind was spinning and his heart had leapt into his throat_. What the hell had happened here?_

Sam turned to Dean._ "It's okay Dean. I'm going. Now you just need to decide."_

Dean stuttered. _"Decide?"_

_John turned to him. "If you go with him you're going to wind up dead. You know I'll die protecting you Dean, Sam's not that kind of person anymore. He's changed." _He pointed at the glowering Sam._ "You can see it. You know it. He's changed. The demon blood, the demon deals all along behind your back, not caring if you lived or died. You slow him down. Remember him saying that to you? He's not your brother anymore."_

It had all happened in the blink of an eye, with unanswered questions, a father who refused to answer any and now his younger brother gone to God knows where. Dean's mind was reeling. This couldn't be happening_. _ He knew that those two would come to blows one day but he never imagined it would be Sam that would so coldly turn his back on them both. Not after all they had been through. Not now. The image of the gun in each man's hand and the unspoken threat in their eyes. It was like they never knew each other at all. And now he sat here essentially alone with emotions that were tearing him apart from the inside out.

"We have to find him."

"There's nothing more to say," John said as he opened his eyes back up and began to dig through his backpack.

"What the hell _was said_ back there!? What the hell happened back there between you two?"

John looked at him coldly, the eyes of a hunter staring him down. "Sam didn't choose us. And if you don't hurry up and get your mind wrapped around that concept then you and everyone around you is as good as dead. Sam is gone and you're better off."

* * *

_"Damn it to Hell Sam, can't you boys ever just do something half way?"_

"What is it Bobby?" Sam heart was now effectively in his throat.

"According to this we're not dealing with some low life petty God. You boys have managed to get the attention of the dream God himself, Morpheus."

Without even knowing a thing about this new horror he had to face Sam understood they were in for the fight of their lives. Battling a demon or angel was bad enough, now they had to go toe to toe with a God?

"So, who is this Morpheus?"

"Greek God of dreams, Son of Hypnos and Pasithea," he kept reading.

"And they are?"

"Well, Pasithea is the daughter of Zeus and the goddess of hallucinations, who then married Hypnos. And he just happens to be the God of Sleep."

Sam tipped his head. "Well, nice to keep it all in the family."

"And that they did. The happy couple had triplet sons, Phobetor, Phantasos, and Morpheus. Daddy provided the sleep, momma the hallucinations then brother Phobetor the animals and Phantasos brought life to the inanimate objects."

Sam began to clinch his jaw. "And Morpheus?"

"Well it seems that little brother quote '_lays his wings aside before taking the shape'._ This son of a bitch provides the transformation into human shape with ultra-realistic dreams. Apparently, he liked talking to Kings and Rulers giving them so called God-sent dreams and prophecies talking to them in their dreams to make them do what they wanted when they woke up. You know, battles to fight, kingdoms to conquer, sheep to steal, virgin sacrifices to offer up."

Sam stood up and looked confused. "So how did it go from providing prophecies to terrorizing Dean?"

Bobby shrugged. "I don't know. That's the kicker."

"Well, screw the motive, how to we kill him?"

This time the sigh was not what Sam wanted to hear.

"Well, their called immortals for a reason Sam."

Anger flared up. "Don't tell me that Bobby. I'm not going to just sit around here and watch Dean be ripped apart from the inside."

Bobby stood up and steadied his stance. "Look here boy; I never said I was giving up." He paused and spoke softer. "We'll find a way."

Sam walked over to Dean. "We have five hours at best. I just, I don't know if he can make it through another night."

Pulling out the chair Bobby sat back down. "Then I guess we better get back to work."

* * *

Bobby stood up and stretched out his back feeling the cracks being released as a result of the one chair confinement all day. Across from him Sam was sound asleep with an open book still in his hands, having dozed off about half an hour earlier from pure exhaustion. He couldn't bring himself to wake him, not just yet. Soon he would have to wake him up and tell him what he had found but for just a few more minutes he was going the let the boy sleep. Heading out to the front porch he leaned on a railing and sipped on his beer while he contemplated how the next few hours would unfold. What he had found out was as impossible as breaking into hell itself.

How was he supposed to tell Sam that there was no way to reach his brother?

* * *

Absence of light.

It was pure darkness holding a soul piercing silence that kept your mind lost in an abyss of nothing. Pain and torture lingered at the edge making him press his eyes closed tight as he remained motionless save for the beating of his heart, he wasn't even sure he was breathing anymore. Silence was his strength right now allowing his mind to focus on what had passed in the last few weeks and the impact it had left behind. Moments like this were rare, almost nonexistent actually. Moments between the fights, battles, wars waged and people around him dying. Moments when he was never sure who stood beside him but he did know who had never come back. John's battle of words and fists with Sam had been the last time they had seen him. Occasionally, they heard rumors in small towns, passing through only privy to the bar tales of the wild man that ran with monsters and was the new nightmare of children.

Right now though, he was alone here. No one had answered his calls of pleading and begging for it to stop, for it to all end, for maybe a do over where he could have his old boring, compared to this hell, life back. Sam was gone and God knows where, Cas had never answered his prayers, and Bobby seemed lost. After weeks of fighting for his life, living through torture with hell around him he had stopped trying, resigned to self-preservation and to this hell of a life with everyone else. In this pit of darkness and silence he held on to the tiny lingering hope that none of this existed, that somehow he was in the wrong place, trapped like a wild animal in a fighting cage. But even deeper down? His instinct to find Sam. He kept telling himself he just had to find him and everything would be okay. Everything would be over.

Find Sam.

Fix Sam.

Save Sam.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for reading! _


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